


Papa's Got a Brand New Suit

by kuwdora



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space 9
Genre: M/M, PWP, Porn Battle VIII, tinker tailor soldier SEX
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-16
Updated: 2009-06-16
Packaged: 2018-01-27 21:55:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1723784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuwdora/pseuds/kuwdora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You come out of there with the suit on or nothing at all, Doctor,” Garak said and Julian unfolded the pants reluctantly. He didn’t wish to displace Garak’s generosity with an insult, so he shrugged himself out of his uniform and into the suit, tucked in the shirt and buttoned the black velveteen coat before exiting the stall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Papa's Got a Brand New Suit

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Porn Battle VIII](http://oxoniensis.dreamwidth.org/10575.html) for the prompts: heat, ordinary and now presented with fewer missing words and typos. hopefully. :D
> 
> omg, many thanks goes out to [](http://transtempts.livejournal.com/profile)[**transtempts**](http://transtempts.livejournal.com/) for holding my hand and squeeing in encouragement. Garak/Bashir \o/ !

Julian’s stomach rumbled with dread rather than hunger when Garak appeared from the back room with a pair of slacks folded over his arm and matching shirt and coat in hand. He leaned against the display table and crossed his arms.

“I thought you were closing up for the night.”

“You’re my last customer,” Garak said, holding the clothing out.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t bring any latinum with me,” Julian said, patting his pocketless sides.

The distinctive quirk of Garak’s lips was no more puzzling than usual as he dumped the clothing in his arms, suppressing his frown, knowing the sooner he humored him, the sooner he'd be able to eat. He managed to plaster on a nervous smile in order to mask the horror he felt writhing on the inside when he touched the velveteen cloth.

“Here, try it on. A belated birthday gift.”

“I can’t,” Julian murmured weakly, holding his arms back to Garak.

“Oh, come now. You can’t show up to next week’s celebration in your drab Starfleet rags. It wouldn’t be appropriate,” Garak said, pushing the clothing back to his chest.

Julian cleared his throat. “Well, Starfleet couture may not be all the rage, but we have the option attending in uniform.”

“Which is all the _more_ reason you should dress up, you get so few chances to do so."

“I have enough formal wear to choose from, if I do decide on a wardrobe change before the time comes,” Julian said.

“Bah, I’ve seen your closet. You’re better off with something new. Now go,” Garak said, herding Julian towards one the changing stall.

“Really, this is unnecessary,” Julian said.

“You come out of there with the suit on or nothing at all, Doctor,” Garak said and Julian unfolded the pants reluctantly. He didn’t wish to displace Garak’s generosity with an insult, so he shrugged himself out of his uniform and into the suit, tucked in the shirt and buttoned the black velveteen coat before exiting the stall.

Garak beamed at the sight and took him by the shoulders, turning him 180 degrees until he was facing the full length mirror. Thin-lined, geometric designs sprawled around the cuff and elbows, entwining in a design that was altogether modest, but not particularly his taste.

“How much does it usually sell for?” Julian asked.

“That doesn’t matter, it’s yours now. See? Quite fetching,” Garak said, prodding Julian until he lifted his arm for Garak to tug on the coat sleeves, running his hands along his arm, smoothing out the cuff. “It doesn’t look like I have to make any alterations, either. A perfect fit,” he said with a pleasant grin. He patted him on the shoulder.

“Well, I guess it does look rather nice,” he said, looked into the mirror, letting his fingers glide over the bizarrely soft surface. It’d be a fine addition to hang in his closet and the velvety material would only help in collecting the dust.

“All dressed up and nowhere to go yet,” Julian said and straightened his back.

“Why don’t we give it a test run on the Promenade? To the replimat,” he announced.

Julian retrieved his uniform from the changing stall and carefully folded it over his arm. “The replimat—-and Quark’s—-are full of the refugees that the Vulcan science vessel brought back from the Gamma Quadrant.”

“Well, fortunately there are other replicators to be found,” Garak said airily as he turned off the lights.

“Now tell me, how are you finding Gul Jenor’s memoirs?” Garak asked as they began weaving in between people on the Promenade.

Julian spent the entire walk to the habitation section trying to understand Gul Jenor’s outlook on life and his aspirations and Garak predictably poked fun at him when he failed to grasp the nuance and breadth of Cardassian shadow politics from nearly forty years ago.

Garak’s quarters remained unchanged from the last time they’d spent the evening discussing the station’s latest gossip and the increase of possible imperial pursuits into the Gamma Quadrant and Julian immediately discarded the coat, knowing full well Garak kept the temperature in his quarters much higher to better accommodate his Cardassian biology.

“So what was it about Jenor’s siblings that made them betray him in the first place?” he asked, thinking more of what he wanted to order from the computer.

“Well, as you’ve come to know, ascending the ranks of power is not always awarded on meritocracy,” Garak said.

“Computer, Bajoran stew and ginger ale, please,” Julian said. “That is hardly limited to Cardassians,” he pointed out while the food materialized on the pad in front of them. Garak leaned against the wall and shrugged.

“You forget. In third chapter in which he described the Central Command’s investigation…”

The conversation continued, the easy back and forth of serve and return, thrust and parry through the Gul’s memoirs to efficacy of Starfleet, Odo’s latest tiff with Quark, the current refugees and beyond.

“Your pragmatism never fails to arouse my curiosity,” Garak said.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he replied with a cheeky grin. He stood while Garak took their empty plates to the disposal unit. Julian nabbed his ginger ale and sipped the last of it and stood.

Garak came up behind him and slid the coat onto his shoulders and Julian turned his head, surprised to find him hovering that close. He managed to get his arms into the sleeves and tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

“The coat is always icing on the proverbial cake,” Garak said, hands still on his shoulders and then slowly smoothed out nonexistent wrinkles. Julian blinked several times and stared, knowing that many times it was fruitless to try and read Garak, sort out the truth from his lies, the lies from his truths but now Julian was sure he could see the intent plain on Garak’s face.

“It is a very nice coat,” Julian said, able to keep himself from stammering but couldn’t prevent the blush that spread across his face.

Garak shook his head and leaned in close. “You’ve gotten better at lying, but you do have much to learn,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

Garak held him by the elbow and lifted his arm slightly. “I know you don’t like it, but that’s fine. It was a simple gesture, that’s all,” he said.

“One that I appreciate,” Julian said.

“Good,” he said, hand sliding down Julian’s side, hand resting on his hip.

“However, it is a bit… warm,” he said.

“Oh, I know. It gets a bit drafty in those banquet halls.”

“I wouldn’t want to sweat into it, suit being new and all,” Julian said and rolled his shoulders, dropping his arm to his side. Garak leaned back into his space, fingers dipping under the collar to help remove the coat. Julian shuddered, though the touch was brief and his shirt already clung to parts of his back.

“Well, I do provide certain dry cleaning services in case of emergencies,” Garak said, carefully folding the coat and putting it back on the chair.

“Really? That’s not something you advertise,” Julian said, hoping he doesn’t sound too inane.

“You should know by now that there are many things I don’t advertise.” Julian managed to crack a smile at that and turned to face him.

“I’m surprised. Normally you’d deny having anything else to advertise,” Julian said.

Garak grabbed him by the wrist and fiddled with the button. “My business practices are a bit unorthodox at times, but I have my reasons,” he said, unconcerned as he dropped his arm and reached for the other.

“We both know I wasn’t referring to your store,” Julian said, turning his wrist to give Garak easier access. He’d seen those hands glide over patron’s inseams, watched those hands fly over computer terminals, pulling out information from the system before Julian even knew what to look for, but the nimble fingers still caught him off guard, especially when they made short work of untucking the shirt.

Garak looked perturbed and canted his head. “It sounds like you were.”

“Garak…”

Julian grabbed his hands, preventing him from going near the buttons lining the shirt. He held onto them until Garak met his eyes and smiled in his non-dismissive manner.

“Yes?”

“Will there ever come a time when you won’t talk to me in doublespeak?”

Garak appeared to consider the question and when he tried to withdraw his hands, Julian put them back on his hips and held them there.

“Perhaps.”

“Is that a lie?”

Garak leaned in close and whispered, “What do your instincts tell you?”

He leaned in and mimicked Garak’s inflection, “That I shouldn’t trust you for anything beyond my tailoring needs.”

Garak inhaled deeply and sighed. “Well, in my professional opinion, I believe I may have been wrong down in the shop. The shirt is much too small. It gives you no room to breathe, barely bend your elbows,” Garak said, reaching for his collar with one hand while the other clasped his elbow.

“You know how to size up everyone just by looking at them. This was all merely a… ploy,” he said, eyes flickering to the hand that undid the first button.

“Not a very good one if you caught on so quickly,” Garak said with feigned disappointment and Julian focused very hard on the words rather than the fingers running down the length of his chest, undoing each button in turn with an excruciating amount of patience that Julian wasn’t sure he could handle.

“Well,” Julian said, unable to keep his nervous smile from showing as he teetered on the precipice of anxiety and excitement. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. I have become better at reading humanoid nature since we met, thanks to you.”

“Is that so,” Garak said and stopped, fingers resting at the bottom the shirt, resting on the final button. Julian watched Garak’s face, his eyes, his shoulders and counted the sloping neck ridges in order to retain a modicum of control.

“Why must Cardassians be so difficult?” he asked in a far more husky tone than he anticipated.

“You know blanket statements help no one,” Garak said with his usual air of nonchalance and opened the final button and pressed a hand to his chest, eyes drooping low in what Julian had known as causal admiration for so many years.

Julian pulled Garak into an embrace, arms circling his waist and kissed one of the dozen ridges along his neck, body responding to Garak’s hands as he pushed the loose shirt off his back and traced his spine. Garak sighed deeply, placing a kiss to the side of Julian’s face, hands wandering down the length of his back.

He grew more bold and kissed higher on the ridges, hand coming up to brace the side of Garak’s face so he couldn’t turn away while he traced the ridge near his right eye and leaned in to kiss them. Garak chuckled and pulled away in what Julian wondered was a state of bashfulness.

“No blanket statements then,” Julian quipped, leaning towards Garak’s face, but not close enough to do anything. “ _You_ are quite difficult. Always have been.”

“Now—”

“And while it’s true it does provide a certain form of conversational entertainment, other times it’s… infuriating.”

Julian took a deep breath and folded his arms. He walked backwards towards Garak’s bed and sat down on the edge. Garak stood where he’d left him, hands hanging idle at his sides, nearly looking surprised. Julian crossed his legs at his ankles and Garak clasped his hands behind his back and headed towards him.

“It never seemed to bother you before.”

He reclined onto his back, fingers threaded behind his head and stretched. “Yes, well, times have changed.”

Julian laid there, waiting for some kind of response and yet was met with none. The bland Cardassian ceiling didn’t hold his attention for long and Julian lifted his head to look. Garak was shedding his own layers of clothing, to the waist down and Julian shifted, resisting the urge to palm the hardness building inside pants that weren’t going to be fitting so nicely for much longer.

“I think I’m going to need to have the pants let out,” Julian said and when he heard how ridiculous the words sounded, he laughed out loud and groaned. He laid back down, hand covering his eyes, though that didn’t keep his stomach from doing a jump and twist when Garak’s delighted laugh filled his ears.

“Charming. Absolutely charming,” he said in no particular hurry and stepped out of his pants.

“I was trying for sexy, but I’m glad you think so,” Julian said, his voice hitching when Garak climbed on top of the bed, hands roaming the length of his pants with familiar precision. Swift fingers helped liberate the painful erection from his pants and Garak made a _tut_ sound, urging his hips up enough to pull his standard issue underwear and suit pants off and down past his ankles. He yanked the black socks from his feet and his hands skimmed Julian’s thighs and he bit down on his tongue to keep himself from whining Garak’s name.

“You are sexy in more ways than you realize, Juilan,” Garak said. The invocation of his name made him sit up and take notice, _real_ notice because the tone of his voice was unlike anything he’d heard from Garak before.

“Well—” Julian choked.

“Your mind. Your humor,” Garak said and bent down, placing a kiss on the flat plane of his stomach, making

He inhaled and exhaled and loudly in an attempt to suppress the quaver in his voice. “I don’t know what to say to that.”

“Your _superfluous_ charisma, unyielding human kindness,” Garak said in between kisses that led to his neck but Julian stopped him and forced Garak into a full-on kiss, parting his lips with none of the unyielding kindness. Nails scraped along the hardened skin of Garak’s back until he fanned his fingers and pushed Garak’s hips down. Julian hissed as Garak’s erection rubbed against his thigh and he ground back and tugged on Garak’s lower lip with teeth.

“Garak?” he whispered, the two syllables sounding hazy in his own ears.

“Julian?” he asked back and shifted his hips until Julian grimaced and laughed quietly. His fingers danced upon the ridge that receded from his cheek to the jet black hair.

“Thank you for the suit.”

Garak’s smile widened and Julian gasped, Garak’s hand suddenly on his hardness, pumping slowly with all indications of speeding up.

“As you can see, it’s as much your pleasure as it is mine."


End file.
